I may be getting a bit manic I said, giggling nervously and thinking of the next 50 things that I absolutely had to say in the next 7 minutes. What makes you think that? Well I did sleep a good 8 hours – over the last three days. And have been blogging like a demon, solving the meaning of life and planning to sell about a decade’s worth of art for small change.

Why do you think it’s happening?

That’s refreshing. The official script reads – “Have you been taking your pills?”
Look, far be it from to condone neurochemically irresponsible behaviour. I would love it if we all could chill. But the thing is some of us can’t – I can’t. Perhaps there is a chemical solution to the condition that is called David. But having just timidly exited a 37 year long experiment in sublimating sorrow with chemical potions I don’t think it’s possible.

I’m sorry to do this to you!
Do what?

Well it can’t be easy. Yesterday I’m all sunshine and rainbows and butterflies then today I’m down in the dumps. Did you say it’s ok. Or perhaps let’s discuss it. My brain has lost Terabytes of information since then. I can’t remember my dreams on your couch and I can’t remember you in my dreams.

It can be unsettling. You meet me and I’m happy and charming and energetic. Then next thing it’s tears, misery, sulleness, aggression.

Was that how it was for your girlfriends?
For some of them.
Is that how it is for you?

I’m not sure. I think alcohol and codeine made it less painful for me. Did fuckall for my significant others though. I’m getting a taste of my own medicine now – being stuck in an abusive relationship with myself – without the fuzzy distant feeling. That wonderful warm fuzzy distant feeling.

Perhaps it’s a form of sublimation? The mania that’s coming on. Sliding seductively closer – like a fucking out of control freight train.

I’m looking at the artificial orchid that I thought had magical powers for 3 months. Wanting to look at you. Your eyes have magical powers. Don’t they? Don’t tell me there’s no such thing as magic.

You’re fired
You’re joking
Perhaps I am

I can sublimate libido, turn my desire into silver words but how do I sublimate sorrow? Without drugs. Without sex. Without madness.
Time is up. Time is always up. Suicide is easy, god is dead and time is up.

Like this:

Under the guise of Nakedness
I am as cold as a razor blade
And darkly opaque
Vanishing slowly as only a seasoned exhibitionist knows how.

You said, hurriedly, towards the never-ending ending
That perhaps your own absence had a taste

It tastes like comfort exploding so slowly
That only my soul feels it at all.

But down deep we are strangers
Dangling our toes in the cool dark water near the shore
Of a darkly dreaming inter-subjective abyss

There is no center
No resting point in the dance of desperate signification
Just endless broken clones
Godhead shattered
Purity infected
Sanity sanitized and become a new toy of the mad

I like it when you see me
I like the fact that you want to see me
But this quagmire Freudian cozy swampy couch
Swallows me faithfully
And you circle like a dove or a vulture
In your straight-backed precocious chair

This ramble
More than the rest
Means just about nothing – or everything
But thank you for going on the journey with me